Catch and Release
by LanieSullivan
Summary: When one's life is as dark as The Slayer's, how do you tell when you've had just a normal nightmare or when it's a prophetic dream warning you of an even darker future?


Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the property of Mutant Enemy and Twentieth Century Fox Television. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and no copyright infringement is intended.

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She awoke with a start, cursing under her breath that another nightmare had startled her out of a sound sleep. _Okay, maybe not quite so sound, _she mentally corrected herself. Sleep didn't really come all that easily these days when her mind was continually plagued by horrific images of bloody violence and death. She couldn't help wondering if the nightmares were coming more frequently simply because of all the things she'd endured since her unwanted calling was thrust upon her or if it were just one more symptom of the slayer legacy. She'd always known that prophetic visions were just one more part of the whole slayer gig, but she'd never been all that good at discerning the difference between Chosen One prophecy and good, old-fashioned nightmares.

She let out a huffy sigh because she knew she wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon. She glanced over to the man sleeping beside her, his unkempt dark hair, a stark contrast against the whiteness of the pillowcase and wondered if she should wake him. There was one thing that was sure to get her mind off things enough to help her sleep, but then she thought that he probably needed the rest more than she did. After all, her slayerness meant that she had much more stamina than he did; that was the whole point, wasn't it; to be able to outlast any monster?

_Maybe a long, hot shower will help, _she mused. Even if it didn't, she could definitely use it after the battle of the night before. She slipped out of bed quietly and padded to the bathroom. As soon as the door was closed behind her, she snapped the light on and let out a groan as the mirror showed just how battered she was from the fight. "Ugh." She shook her head, trying to remind herself to be grateful for her supernatural gifts because they allowed her to heal faster than your average Joe instead of bitching about being cursed with a gift she didn't want or need and longing for a normal life.

Despite trying hard to be positive, she shuddered at the sight of the scar on her neck left by Angel. That one was going to take awhile to heal, not just the physical mark, but the emotional one as well. Unable to look at herself any longer, she stepped away from the mirror to turn on the water.

"Come on!" she urged impatiently as she put her hand under the spray to test it and found it not heating up fast enough to satisfy her need to wash away the darker side of her nature. If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that a small part of her still loved the fight, but she didn't want to think just now. Her brain had already been on total overload in her battle to save Angel's soul, but it was done. He was no longer the brutal, sadistic Angelus, but was just back to being Angel. Like her, he was a little bruised and battered, but still…at least people weren't dying anymore.

_Not by his hand anyway, _the more dominant Negative Nancy in her head taunted, reminding her of the dream that had roused her from her sleep. "Stop it," she barked aloud as she stepped under the finally-hot spray of the shower, willing it to cleanse away her morbid thoughts. She wondered if constant gruesome thinking also came with the whole "she alone, will stand against the darkness…" thing.

That thought brought her right back to where she'd begun; the nightmare. "Dammit!" she swore when the images of death and destruction wouldn't leave her already-overworked mind. Why couldn't she figure this out? Was this just a dream or was there something darker on the horizon? She hadn't thought things could get much darker than what she'd just been through, but if that dream were indeed a prophecy, it was about to be a thousand times worse.

"I have to stop thinking about this," she scolded herself as she realized the shower, while helping her scrub away the physical remnants of her recent scrimmage; was doing nothing for the mental one she was having with herself. She had to admit this was nothing new for her. She was often in her own head and she knew that was why she had such trouble forming long-term relationships and in those few she had, actually telling the people she cared for how much they meant to her. In the same way she couldn't figure out this dream, she also couldn't figure out if that was another facet of the ancient legacy she'd inherited or if it was her own nature. She supposed it could be both since her first watcher had taught her that the heritage of the Slayer had been with her since birth, even if the associated powers had not been bestowed upon her until the death of her predecessor.

"And here we are again," she grumbled as she toweled herself off, wishing she could free herself of the somber thoughts for just a little while. She flipped off the bathroom light and tiptoed back to the bedroom and for a long moment, just stared at the naked man asleep before her, again contemplating waking him for another tumble. She was sure he wouldn't mind since he'd been amazed by her level of endurance, despite him being well aware of everything being a slayer entailed.

As she reflected back on the more pleasant events of the prior evening, she couldn't help smiling. Not that she was some blushing schoolgirl living in a happily-ever-after fantasy. She knew this little tryst was simply that. They were both still reeling from the recent mayhem they'd endured and she knew a part of him would never truly forgive her for the things that had happened between them in the past, despite her attempts to make amends. Still, there was no point in letting the moment pass them by. Life was too short, especially if her harrowing dreams did turn out to be a prediction of a new apocalyptic threat looming.

"Screw it." Still naked, she got back into bed, nudging him as she did so and resigned herself to the fact that her first idea of how to get rid of her nagging thoughts may just have been the right one. When he opened his eyes and his gaze met hers, she greeted him with a simple, "Hey," conveying as little emotion as possible.

"Hey," he responded in kind, his bland tone matching hers, but she'd been around people enough to know that much like her, his seeming nonchalance belied his inner turmoil. He'd been through nearly as much as she had in the past few days.

When the silence between them dragged on while they stared at one another, she swallowed hard and began, "I…um…" Now, that she'd woken him, she couldn't think of the right thing to say or do to get things going again.

"Yes?" he queried with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing," she lied. Feeling far too exposed with the way he was staring at her as if trying to uncover her soul, she hastily pulled the sheet up over herself as if that would help.

He let out a deep sigh. "You woke me. You must have had a reason," he argued.

She nodded, but now she was questioning what that reason was. She had tried to tell herself that she merely needed a physical release so she could go back to sleep, but now that his dark eyes were relentlessly piercing hers, she started questioning her own motives. Of all the people she knew, he was the one most likely to be able to help her decipher what was going on in her brain and what her dreams really meant, if anything.

"Listen, Wes…I…uh…I had a dream…" Faith began outlining all the details, the attack on her in the prison yard, followed by the dream of the same eyeless freaks with the ornamented knives, the dead girls…everything. As she poured out everything that was worrying her to her former watcher, it finally struck her that this was the release she needed.


End file.
